The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1887-06-30
Madame Sainte Gather! ~,
BY ANDRE THEURIrr,.

Madame Sainte Cather!,.o.
BY ANDRE THEURIEL.
Translated from the French IL, the Den.
yer Republican.
lsay unto you that there shall be more
IVY IN heaven over one sinner that re.
pentcth than over ninety and nine right.
9ouS persons who need no repentance
Luke XIV, 7.
One evening in November, on the
eve OF St. GATHERINGS Day, the iron
gate OF the prison at Auberive rolled
back on its hinges and gave passags
to woman of about thirty years
age. She was dressed in a faded
wooden gown and wore on her head a
white linen cap, adjusted in strange
fashion round her pale features, whose
wan expression betrayed long deten.
ton and measret fare. Her fellow. pris-
oners had nicknamed her 1.-The Bre-
tonne," no doubt because she was a
native OF Brittany. Condemned for the
helnous crime of infanticide, she had
been brought to the House of Detention
IN = prison van exactly six years ago,
and had just been set free. having
served her time.
After getting back her old clothes
and receiving at the CRETE or registry
the ridiculously small sum of money
set aside for her by the prison author
tiles in return for six long years OF
unremittins hard labor, she was now
at last once more free, with her pass
port signed for Langros. The coach.
however, for this latter place, has al.
ready left. Timid and awkward, she
directed her faltering steps towards
the nearest inn, with q tremulous
voice inquired if she could be accom-
modated for the night. The inn was
crowded with customers, and the inn
keeper, who little cared to house" birds
Of that feather" advised her to push
on to the wine.shop at the other end
of the village.
The BretOnne, more awkward and
timid than before. went on her wav
ind knocked at the door OF the wine.
shop, a mere pothouse for navvies.
fhe publican's wife eyed her mistrust-
tully from head to foot, and guessing
she had just left the Centrlle, or pris-
on. sent her off with the excuse chat
she did not take in dodgers: Not dar-
ing to insist, the poor woman turned
away with dropping head, while a feel.
my OF anger rose in her heart against
those who thus drove her from their
door.
She had only one thing left to do,
and that was to reach Langres on
loot. Night, however, sets in early
towards the close OF November, so
that darkness soon overlook the wav-
farer on the dusky road that extend
cd lar away through the lonesome
wood, and the north wind blew keen
among the swayin2 trees, scattering
large heaps OF dead leaves by the way.
During the six long years she had
spent in solitary confinement the
Bretonne had lost the habit of walk
ING; her joints were as if knotted and
her feet, unused to any but wooden
ones she had on. After getting over
league or so OF ground, her heels
were sorely blisterea and she felt al
ready tired out. She sank down on q
heap OF stones, shuddering at the
thought that she might have to die of
cold and. hunger in so dark a night
and with such nipping blast that
chilled her to the bone.
Suddenly along the solitary road,
and In the pauses OF IN. cold north
wind, she thought she :eard the draw
ling tones of some"ody singing in
the distance. She listened eager
", and was soon convinced
thai she caught the sound OF
one OF those dear. monotonous snatch
es OF nursery rhymes, with which
children are nuYsed to sleep. Rising to
her feet she went in the direction of
of the voice, and at the turn of the
crossyoad beheld light glimmering
through tho branches. Five minutes
after she reached clay-built hovel,
the roof OF which, covered with clods,
leaned against rock, and whose only
window gave passage to a Pickering
ray. With anxious heart she resolved
to knock at the door. AS soon as
she had done so the singing ceased,
and q peasant woman came to the
threshold.
She was of about the same age as
the Bretonne, and worn and wasted
with field labor. Her short gown,
which was rent in places, sho we'd her
dark, sun-burnt skin; her reddish hair
fell in disorder from underneath lit
tie cloth cap, and her grey eyes looked
with astonishment at the stranger,
whose face had, in fact, something I'M
usual in its pallid expression.
Good evening"" said the peasant
woman, raising the lamp she held in
her hand; "what do you want?"
"Shelter," murmured the Bretronne
with sigh of deep anguish, "the town
is yet far of, aud if you'd let me put
up here for the night 'twould be q real
blessing. I've money and would glad.
ly pay you for your trouble"
''Come in" said the peasant, with
out much hesitation; "but," she add
ed, more out of curiosity than from
any mistrust, why didn't you stop
'"Thsy wouldn't take me in" she
answered. And casting down her blue
eyes. the Bretonne, % from q sense of
duty, added: because, you see, I've
just left tho Centrale, and that doesn't
give people confidence"
All "oaA, COuA0 AL ttAl I1l0 o6lu0.
I've little to fear anyway, never hay
ing had anything but misery for my
lot. It would be unreasonable to
leave a Christian out of doors in such
cold weather. I'll make you up a bed
with q strewing of heather"
The peasant woman went to shed
and brought in several armfuls of dry
heath, which she spread in the corner
near the chimney.Place:
."You live alone here" ventured the
Bretonne.
Eyes, with my little girl, who is near
upon seven. learn for both Of us by
working in the woods"
"Your man is dead, then?"
II never had one," bluntly rejoined
La Fleuriotte, "the poor girl had no
father. Well, you, know, we all have
our troubles. There's your bed now,
and here are two or three potatoes
which were left from supper. IT'S all
Ihave to offer you"
She was interrupted by q childish
voice, which came from behind q plank